Sword of Doom (4 page)

“You can't?”

“No! A third must be paid in tribute to our sovereign King Eldred, another third to our liege lord Whitecloak, and me, I'm left with a pittance for my trouble. Then I have to pay all my personal costs out of that. Like feed for my horse, new boots for my feet, or ale for me and any lady companions I might entertain. Then there's repair costs to my armor, costs for keeping my weapons sharpened. And if I fall ill or get cut open in battle, do I get to use the services of the king's surgeon? No! I must pay for my
own
healer. And in my old age, when I am no longer able to plunder, will the king give me as much as a comfy bed to rest my weary bones? No! So, believe me, the plundering life isn't all it's cracked up to be—”

“Are you
playing
or talking?” asked his opponent, Svein One Brow, a pock-faced brute with one giant eyebrow above his nose. “Quit griping and move already, ya piss-hole.” Ragnar grumbled and looked back at the board. Svein grinned up at Jarl and said to pay no mind to Ragnar's
nitpicking. The warrior life had it all. “Freedom. Travel. Women. Fresh air. Excitement. Did I say women?” One Brow admitted it wasn't perfect. The hours were often too long, the food undercooked, and most were lucky if they saw their twenty-fifth year.

“Yes,” said Vik, “but what's the downside?”

 

After the others had eaten and left Dane and Godrek alone by the fire, Dane again asked about his father. What was his best quality? His worst? His finest moment in battle? Godrek was slow to speak on these things, preferring one-word answers and cryptic smiles. Still, Dane felt honored to be having this private time with his lordship, and even brief glimpses of his father were better than none at all. Curious then about another matter, he asked what had happened between them to end their friendship.

For a long moment Godrek drank from his ale jar and said nothing, contemplating the past. “Your father could have been a great man,” he said at last, his eyes on the fire. “A man of wealth and distinction beyond measure. He stood on the threshold of a life few can imagine. He could have grasped the stars.” Godrek fell silent. “But he threw it all away. Turned his back on greatness and retired to your sleepy little backwater village to live a dullard's life.”

The words hurt Dane, and noticing this, Godrek softened his tone.

“I'm sorry, son,” he said. “I don't mean to belittle you or
your people. But you must understand there is a life beyond the one you know. One of limitless glory. Since I last saw your father, I've lived ten whole lifetimes, become a lord of my own lands. Tested myself in ways few men ever do. Seen and done things that change a man forever, that make you change your view of life itself. Suffice to say, son, I've had my share of adventures….”

Adventures!
The very word was so tantalizing to Dane, it seemed as though a new doorway was opening right before his eyes.

“The question is,” said Godrek with a glint of fatherly wisdom, “do you want to stay in your little village of farmers and fishwives and while away your days in indolent domesticity? Or do you want to see the world? Maybe even
conquer
a piece of it?”

Dane couldn't speak; his heart swelled with yearning. Was
this
what he wanted? Was this his true destiny? Godrek rose, stretched his limbs, and said, “Some men keep their heads in holes all their lives and never even know it; others lift their eyes to the stars.” And it was these words most of all that Dane lay in his bedroll thinking about deep into the night.

 

William lay in his bedroll, determined to stay awake and prove his worth in the event thieves or godless wights chanced attack. For a time he heard distant hoots and night calls, and imagined the beasts of prey both furred and feathered that might be stalking the teeming forest. He heard
the snuffles and snores of his comrades, as well as nocturnal rumblings from Fulnir, who lay nearby. Even Klint the raven, perched in a nearby birch tree, slept soundly, his head tucked under a wing. The only other one awake, William saw, was the sentry on duty, who sat in a crouch on the far edge of camp, stoking a fire and drinking from an ale jar. It was Thorfinn, the one who had laughed and ridiculed him for being a
little boy.
Oh! How William wanted to show him he was wrong.

But it would have to wait. Perhaps, he thought, he should get some sleep before daybreak. He turned over in his blankets—and spied something that had escaped his attention before. Two squat boulders, similar to the ones they had passed on the trail that day, sat together just within the perimeter of the camp. There was nothing strange about these rocks, except for the fact they looked identical, like twins. Their surfaces were weathered and pitted just like ordinary stones. And, of course, that's just what they were. Harmless, ordinary rocks. And this was why he hadn't noticed them before.

He burrowed snugly in his blankets to ward off the cold and closed his eyes. Soon, very soon, he vowed to prove his mettle and show what he was made of. Fading into slumber, the boy conjured images of the day Godrek and Dane would grip his arm warrior style and tell him he'd done well….

An eerie whisper jolted him awake. He sat up. How long had he been asleep? He darted looks around the camp. All
was quiet. Even the sentry appeared to be dozing. Then he saw something that sent an icy shiver down his neck.

The twin boulders were gone.

He started to shout an alarm but caught himself. What if he was mistaken? What if the boulders he'd seen earlier were not where he thought they were but somewhere else along the perimeter? If he awoke everyone on a false alarm, he'd be yelled at, if not laughed at again. No, he would do the right thing and first make certain.

He quietly pulled on his boots, strung an arrow on his bow, and crept off to the spot where he thought the twin boulders had vanished from near a thicket of brambles. He stopped. Listened. On the wind came that eerie sound again…faint whispers, rising and falling as if in chorus, the sounds just short of being words. The night, it seemed, was speaking a strange language he had never heard before…a language that seemed to be calling to him.

He crept closer to the thicket, to where the forest merged into blackness. That's when he saw them: eyes staring out at him. Six pairs of tiny ovals ashine in the darkness. William wanted to run, but he seemed rooted to the ground. And then he saw deathly white claws tipped with sharp talons reaching out from the darkness toward him—and something grabbed him from behind. He let out a piercing scream, whirled away from the grasp, and fell to the ground.

Dane was staring down at him. “William—what are you doing!”

“I—I saw them!” William sputtered. “They—they—they were here!”

His scream had roused the camp. Godrek and his men came running, weapons in hand, followed by Jarl, Astrid, and the others.

“What is it, boy?” Godrek demanded. “Why do you wake us?”

William excitedly pointed to where the rocks had been. “The rocks—they moved! So I went to see and—” He gestured to the woods. “They were there! I saw them! I heard their voices! The dark dwarves!”

Godrek turned to Thorfinn, the man on sentry. “Did you see or hear anything?”

“No, my lord. I saw the boy go to the perimeter, I thought to relieve himself. But nothing more.”

“He saw nothing, my lord,” William responded, “because he was sleeping.”

“He lies!” Thorfinn bellowed. He came at the boy, hand raised. Dane stepped in front of William, catching Thorfinn's wrist before he could strike. With his other hand Thorfinn went for his knife, and Godrek shouted, “Enough!” The liegeman froze, hand on knife handle, glaring at Dane. He was older than Dane, a good five years his senior, but both seemed evenly matched.

Thorfinn jerked his wrist from Dane's grasp and let the knife handle go with the other, still staring hard at Dane. “The boy lies. I demand satisfaction from his protector.”

“We'll have none of that,” Godrek said. “As for the boy, I'm sure it was a dream he had.”

“No! It wasn't!” William protested.

“Quiet!” Godrek barked, his glare turning William mute. For an instant William felt Godrek himself was going to strike him, but the man collected himself and turned to Dane. “Inform your charge about the dangers of a loose tongue.” With that, Godrek and his men went back to their bedrolls. Thorfinn followed, but not before he gave Dane a final sneering look that said,
This is not over
.

Before William could speak, Dane turned on him, his eyes livid. “Never challenge a liegeman unless you're man enough to fight him. He'll kill you—and be within his rights!” Dane strode away, leaving William standing alone. He peered into the woods where he thought he had seen the eerie, glowing eyes. There was nothing there but darkness.

B
y midmorning the following day the party emerged from the woods into an alpine meadow. In the summer it would be alive with bright flowers and lush grasses, but the winter freeze had turned everything brown and dead. No one cared that the landscape was so lifeless or the air biting cold; they were all thankful to be out in the bright sunshine and away from the gloomy, dreaded forest. Dane noticed that everyone's mood had brightened and there was laughter now among his friends.

“Think there'll be many girls in Skrellborg?” asked Fulnir as he rode beside Dane.

“Lots,” Dane replied. “You'll have your pick.”

“Our
pick
?” asked Drott the Dim. “You mean if I try to kiss one, she won't hit me with a rock?”

“You can't kiss her right off,” Dane said. “You have
to make conversation first. Girls in Skrellborg are more refined.”

“More refined than
who
?” Astrid chimed in as she rode up alongside them. “We
simple
girls from Voldarstad?”

Dane blushed. “Uh, I
like
simple girls from Voldarstad.”

“Sure of that, Dane?” she chided. “And when all those Skrellborg maidens
throw
themselves at your feet? What then?” She pulled her hair and wailed in comic exaggeration. “‘Oh, Dane! Dane the Defiant, you have stolen my refined heart!'”

His friends hooted in laughter, and Dane noticed it even drew a smile from Ragnar the Ripper.

Dane grinned. “Astrid, you needn't worry.”

“Worry? Why would I worry?” she asked. “I'll be too busy with the refined
boys
.”

There were more guffaws, the laughter free and easy, the kind shared among good friends, and Dane couldn't remember when he had last felt so carefree and happy.

The path continued to climb through the woods; an unruly wind arose, and it grew colder. Dane noticed that Lut the Bent had turned pale, so he took his woolen scarf and wrapped it round the old man's face and neck. Lut nodded in gratitude, but there seemed something weighty on the old one's mind, something more than just the chilly weather.

“I was thinking about how wolves choose their leader,” Lut said. Dane sensed another life lesson coming. “Did you
know the lead wolf is born to its place? Just as those who trot behind are born to theirs?” Lut nodded toward the front of the procession, and Dane saw Jarl on his mount ahead, leading the party up the trail as if he were the lord of the troop.

“So you're saying men are the same? They're born to their position? I thought you said a man could choose his
own
destiny.”

Lut sighed. “Did I say that? I'm old and I forget things.”

Dane knew Lut's mind was as sharp as ever. He only feigned forgetfulness to win arguments. “I have a choice, Lut. I can lead farmers and fishwives, or I can strike out on my own and see the world. Godrek says some men keep their heads in holes all their lives, others lift their eyes to the stars.”

“Hmm” was all Lut said for a while as their horses trod on. Dane thought perhaps the life lesson was over. Then Lut said, “Your father took a wife, raised a son,
and
led farmers and fishwives. Find out why he made that choice, and you will know what your destiny should be.”

Dane thought for a moment. “Could the answer lie in the chest, Lut? The secret that will change my life?”

“A distinct possibility, son. A distinct possibility.”

 

The party climbed ever higher up the mountain, the vegetation growing sparse and the footing treacherous as the path led them across the blue ice of a glacier. Deep crevasses
in the ice could be hidden by thin snow bridges, so two of Godrek's men went ahead on foot to probe the ice with pikes and spears to be sure it was solid. Godrek ordered all to stay in single file and not stray from the path, for if anyone were to stumble into a chasm, death was certain.

The riders guided their mounts with care up the icy path to where the glacier reached its highest point between two mountain peaks. They crested the ridge and made their way down the gently sloping path. Dane spied a fortress far in the distance at the glacier's southernmost edge. He had never seen such an impressive structure. The timbered walls encircling the city stood at least five times the height of a man. He glimpsed, within the walls, more huts and a high-roofed lodge of wood and stone that surely was the lair of the king.

“Behold Skrellborg,” Godrek announced with pride. “King Eldred's abode.”

Dane exchanged looks of awe with Drott and Fulnir. The fortress was far grander than they had ever imagined. Dane envisioned himself passing triumphantly between its massive front gates, sitting before the king's roaring fire, a cup of hot mead in his hand, and servants attending his every need as he regaled the king with stories of his exploits. He could hardly wait.

“It'll be nightfall before we make it down,” Dane heard Drott say. And looking over, he saw Drott was thinking the same thing that he was thinking:
Let's get there already!
Drott raised his eyebrows and said, “There
is
a faster way.”

Drott eagerly jumped off his horse and sank to his knees on the downward-sloping ice.

“Don't be a muckhead,” Fulnir said, realizing what he was about to do. But Drott wasn't listening. “Last one down's a moldy maggot pie!” he shouted as he launched himself face-first down the icy slope, gleefully screaming at the top of his lungs.

Not to be outdone, Dane leaped from his saddle, and soon he too was shooting down the ice slope, deaf to his mother's cries of alarm. What a thrill to be going so fast, the exhilaration of wind whipping his hair, making him feel free and unfettered. The slope abruptly dropped away, he went airborne—and in a sickening moment of clarity he realized this perhaps had not been such a wise idea. Flying in midair, he saw dark, jagged shapes fast approaching. Rocks. Huge slabs of granite jutting up out of the ice. In one panicked moment, he cursed himself for forgetting that his friend was named Drott the Dim for a very good reason:
He was an idiot!

Missing a jutting rock by a hair, Dane crashed hard onto the ice slope again, tumbling ass over ale cups down the ever-steeper slope. Again he went airborne, flew
over
Drott, who lay spread-eagled, and slammed down on a crusty stretch of snow. At last he came to an abrupt halt, crashing hard into a snowdrift piled against a boulder.

He was still breathing, at least. That was good. But
when he rose to his feet, he saw Drott wasn't moving. He hurried back toward where his friend lay, but before he could reach him, Drott cried, “Stop!” Dane froze. He heard deep cracking sounds coming from somewhere beneath them. Evidently this was one of the snow bridges Godrek had warned them about. Any sudden moves and the bridge could collapse, sending Drott falling hundreds of feet to the bottom of the crevasse.

“Get away, Dane! It's gonna fall!”

“Don't move! I'll reach you!”

“Stay back!” Drott yelled again.

Dane hushed him and put an ear to the ground. Faintly he could hear a creaking, cracking sound coming, it seemed, from deep within the glacier, traveling up through the fissure in the ice. He crawled forward on his belly, inching closer to Drott. The cracking sound grew louder. Dane knew he was right at the fissure's edge but not nearly within reach of his friend. Any farther, and his added weight might collapse the bridge, and then he, too, would never be found until the earth warmed and the glaciers melted. Like that could ever happen.

There was only one thing for Dane to do—he took off his pants. Grasping the end of one pant leg, he tossed the other one over to Drott, who grabbed it. “Hold tight, Drotty.” Slowly Dane pulled Drott forward.

Then the snow bridge collapsed.

Drott disappeared, nearly pulling Dane down with him.
But Dane held tight to the ice cliff, keeping a firm grip on his end of the pants as Drott dangled over the chasm, holding tight to the other leg.

“Hold on, Drotty!”

Dane pulled with everything he had. Drott rose a bit—until the deerskin pants began to rip at the crotch, the threads giving way. Dane made a wild grab for the scruff of Drott's coat. The pants fell into the chasm. With a final heave, Dane pulled his pal up and over the edge to safety.

They scrambled away a short distance and slumped down, exhausted, Dane's bare buttocks freezing as they touched the snow.

“You're a fool, boy!” Godrek's voice rang out as he pulled up his horse, having raced down the glacier to Dane's aid. “You!” he said, angrily stabbing a finger at Drott. “You are a half-wit! But you,” he said, glaring at Dane, “
you
are the son of Voldar the Vile and
should
have more sense!”

The others rode up, and when Dane saw Astrid, he sheep-ishly cupped his hands in front of his privates. Jarl let out a guffaw. “Well, won't you be em-
bare-assed
when you meet the king.” Godrek's men laughed heartily.

“I'm just wondering how he's going to wave to the crowd,” Astrid said.

“All right, all right, I guess I deserve that,” Dane said.

“You deserve a good birching, that's what you deserve,” Geldrun scolded.

“I have a spare skirt if you need it,” Astrid said. Her sense
of humor was often as sharp as her axes. Right now, as he stood freezing, this was
not
one of the qualities Dane loved most about her.

“Thank you, Mistress of the
Jest
, but I packed another pair of pants. Why don't you all ride on and I'll catch up.”

“Maybe you could point us in the right direction,” she added.

Dane gave her a scowl.

After the others had ridden ahead, Dane went to his horse to retrieve his pack. He untied it and found an undershirt, a tunic, two pairs of leggings…but no trousers. Frantically he dug through the pack, tossing his things willy-nilly trying to find the missing garment…but with no luck. Sickened, he realized that in the excitement of leaving for the trek, he must have forgotten to pack his deerskin dress trousers.

Now what was he to do?

Alone on the freezing glacier, his bared buttocks turning to ice, Dane spied his loyal raven, Klint, circling overhead.

“Klinty!” Dane called. “At least y
ou
won't abandon me, eh, boy?” But as soon as the cry had left his lips, the bird took wing toward the fortress, letting out a
scrawk!
that to Dane sounded every bit like mocking laughter.